Union Forever

by William R. Forstchen

  Yet he could come back the hero nevertheless, for after all, it would be he who reported all that they had done against the ten thousand Yankees arrayed against him.

  "They've tricked us," Hinsen said, using his most persuasive tone. "They're coming by sea—you heard the messenger. If we stay here, they'll bottle us up in the river and wipe us out."

  Jamie fell silent, looking at Hinsen warily.

  "I have good friends back out there," someone from the back of the group snarled.

  "Then if you want, go back out there and join them."

  Leaning back against the cabin door, he watched them closely, gauging their reactions.

  "We can be home to Cartha in seven days," Hinsen said. "Back with your families, the first soldiers to return as heroes."

  "And the others?"

  "I promise you, they'll be rescued. If we don't leave now, none of us will get out. Keane will surely stop here and come up the river to find us. Then our friends will truly be trapped."

  "Back to Cartha?" Jamie said craftily. "Why not to Suzdal?"

  "Would you rather go to Suzdal or home?" Hinsen asked softly.

  The men looked at each other, and he saw the hopeful smiles on some of their faces.

  "We leave within the hour," Hinsen announced, and without waiting for a response he stepped into the small cabin at the stem of the ship and closed the door, and as he did so he finally let a smile cross his features.

  Reaching under his bunk, he pulled out a bottle of Cartha wine. He uncorked it and drained off a long drink. If Keane really was coming by sea, there could only be one of two results.

  If Cromwell wins, I will still merely be in his shadow, he thought. But if he should lose … Lifting the bottle, he took another long swallow, then lay back, looked at the ceiling, and smiled.

  "Battery, fire salute!"

  The carronade below deck kicked off with a hollow thump, and a wreath of smoke punched out from the turret below his feet.

  Andrew shook his head. It was a rather pathetic salute for Marcus, but every ounce of powder was precious and it was all he was going to get.

  From atop the mainmast of Marcus's flagship the purple standard bearing the eagle dropped down in reply and then was hoisted back up. The galley swept past. With its experienced crew it seemed virtually to fly across the water, the men digging their oars in and lifting them in unison.

  "It looks good, real good," Emil said.

  "You know, Emil, when I first read Polybius's accounts of the rise of the Roman Empire, the wars with Carthage always held me the most," Andrew replied. "I always rooted for the Carthaginians, though."

  "How come? They were a terrible people," Emil replied.

  "Oh, I don't know. Perhaps because they were the underdogs, perhaps because of what the Romans finally did to them in the Third Punic War. How could I ever have imagined I'd be caught in the same type of conflict?"

  "There is one difference, though," Emil said. "We have the Merki, they didn't."

  "Here come our boys," John said, pointing to the first galley clearing the bar.

  Andrew watched appraisingly. The ship definitely did not have the trim or agility of the Roum, Marcus's flagship. It tended to drift to port ever so slightly on each stroke, but Andrew could sense the enthusiasm of the crew as they came racing past, the men cheering the group assembled on the Suzdal. Andrew snapped off a sharp salute and then took off his hat and waved.

  It seemed that a virtual explosion of galleys was pouring out of the roadstead in front of Ostia. The water foamed with the passage of the ships.

  "It's gonna be hell sorting all of them out once they clear the harbor," Andrew said, shaking his head. The galleys had been divided up into units of ten, a Roum ship captain commanding each of them.

  "We'll have five days to do it in," Bullfinch replied. "The voyage over there will be a good shakedown cruise for all of us."

  "Let's just hope the damn things float," Emil replied.

  "Ah, always the pessimist, aren't we, doctor," Mina retorted.

  "In my business you learn to be. Good God, I'll most likely be treating twenty thousand sets of blisters come nightfall. It's too bad that wind doesn't shift around to one side or the other so we could at least use the sails."

  As the last of the galleys passed, a puff of smoke appeared behind the bar, and inching its way out, the ironclad Republic of Rus came into view, commanded by Dimitri, whose only former experience on water had been piloting a small trading vessel up and down the Neiper. The ship had a strange dark menace to it, the largest of all the ironclads at nearly six hundred tons. Its blockhouse was a third again as big as the Suzdal's and contained two of the precious carronades. the twin stacks billowed a spark-studded shower of smoke. The built-up armor protection around the paddle wheels gave the vessel the appearance of some strange hump-backed creature gliding across the water. A raft piled high with firewood bobbed behind the ship, containing the extra hundred cords of fuel necessary to see them through to Suzdal.

  From atop its pilothouse, the burned, shot-torn standard of the 5th Suzdal fluttered in the breeze.

  "The old 5th," Andrew said softly as the ship chugged past, Dimitri standing atop the pilothouse and saluting smartly.

  "That regiment will rival the 35th if someone ever writes a history of all we've done," Ferguson whispered.

  Surprised at Ferguson's sudden turn to history, Andrew looked over at him and smiled.

  Behind the Republic of Rus the rest of the ironclads started to emerge, the propeller-driven ships moving somewhat slower than the paddle wheelers.

  Andrew counted the vessels off, and after the sixteenth emerged the water was empty. The last vessel in line swung in close, her captain standing on the pilothouse.

  "The Novrod busted a propeller driveshaft," the captain shouted. "She's still up at Ostia."

  "Goddammit," Andrew snapped, looking over at Ferguson, who shook his head.

  "Sir, we're lucky we've got seventeen going. We'll be lucky if ten of them make it to Suzdal. Each ship has a spare shaft, but it'll take them three or four days to put it in."

  Andrew could sense the defensiveness in his voice.

  "It's all right. Chuck, you've done just fine. It's just we're leaving three behind already, and I hate to lose another before we even clear the harbor."

  "Remember, it can still stand here as harbor defense," Mina interjected. "We've left that city damn near naked. The one other ship with the misaligned engine won't be ready for several days as well."

  Andrew weighed the odds for a moment and finally nodded in agreement.

  "Tell him they're staying behind. That'll leave two ships afloat at least. By the time they catch up the battle will most likely be over anyhow.

  "So that's about it, gentlemen," Andrew said, looking back out to sea, where the fleet of over a hundred ships moved slowly over the waves. "Anything else?"

  His staff shook their heads, and he could see in their eyes they were anxious to begin.

  Forcing a smile, he looked over at Bullfinch.

  "Admiral Bullfinch, tell the dispatch boat to cast off and carry the message back to Novrod. Sir, I am in your hands now. Let's get moving."

  "Yes sir, admiral," Bullfinch said, and shouting out orders, he scrambled up to the pilothouse.

  The crew of former Union infantrymen scrambled to their tasks, the deck crew running forward to hoist the anchor, which was nothing more than a heavy block of granite held to the ship by an arm-thick length of rope. Even as the men labored at the wooden windlass set low in the bow, the twin stacks behind the gunhouse started to blow smoke. The Suzdal inched forward. A shudder ran though the vessel as the engines picked up their tempo, and a white wake began to spread out behind the ship as Bullfinch swung it around on a westerly heading.

  Andrew could feel the deck slowly begin to rise and fall beneath his feet.

  With a weak smile he looked over at Emil, and taking the single chair that had been brought on board for his co
nvenience, he settled down to endure the ordeal.

  "It is simply incredible," Tobias said. "It would be like Keane to pull something like this off."

  "You presented him with the impossible," Hulagar replied. "In our circlings we have crossed many stretches of land that cannot support us. They are difficult treks. Your Keane was trapped, and he had to find another way."

  Tamuka sat quietly in the comer, watching the Yankee captain with disdain. He had created something that caught his opponent by surprise, but then had expected him to follow the path he had wished him to. His gaze shifted for a brief moment to Vuka, who sat in silence. His behavior had been most curious. Where before he had swaggered and boasted, now he spoke barely a word, dwelling on some inner thoughts. Not a dozen words had they exchanged since his return, yet another sign that Vuka knew the reason he had been sent back. At least in that he had shown some decency, not abasing himself by trying to win back through his shield-bearer what he had lost. Turning his gaze away from Vuka, he focused his attention back on Tobias to see what the cattle would now do.

  "It took you nearly a year to build the ships you have," Hulagar asked. "How could they do such a thing in merely thirty days?"

  "I had nothing when I came to Cartha," Tobias said defensively. "It was worse than medieval. We had to build a foundry, a mill, and lathes. That took time."

  "Roum was the same way," Mantu said quietly.

  Tobias could feel the anger building within. How could these bastards ever understand what he had done for them, what odds he had faced? So they were judging him now as well.

  "They had a foundry and the beginnings of a mill already in the city."

  "And you did not destroy it."

  "I had planned to," Tobias said slyly. "That is, until the people rioted and we were driven back."

  As he spoke he looked over coldly at Vuka with an accusing glare.

  Vuka said nothing, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

  "That is in the past," Hulagar said quickly. "I desire to understand the present and what you see as the future."

  Tobias leaned back in his chair, and the cabin became silent.

  "They must have used the locomotive engines," he began cautiously. "Moved them down from Hispania, along with rail iron for armor."

  "Would these ships be strong?" Hulagar asked.

  "Perhaps. We won't know till we meet them. But I can guarantee this. It would be impossible to cast heavy guns like the one aboard our ships. There's nearly five tons of metal in our fifty-pounders, nearly ten tons in the hundred. Reaming out the bores would take some damn heavy machinery."

  "So you believe we are stronger."

  Tobias nodded confidently.

  "How many ships would he have?"

  "The messenger saw only one. But he did report plumes of smoke along the river. I would guess maybe five or ten. Keane would be mad to attempt this with anything less. Those galleys will be to transport his men, nothing more. He's most likely going to try to run up the coast and drop his army off."

  "And if they do?"

  "He'll have an advantage on land. His troops are better —we knew that before we even started this."

  "Then what is your plan?"

  Tobias forced a smile. The nightmare memory of the Merrimac steaming down upon his stranded and defenseless ship came back to him with a cold chill. But this would be different. This time he would own the Merrimac and Andrew's pitiful effort would be fodder for his guns.

  "I'm pulling the fleet out," Tobias said evenly. "I'm also taking the galleys with me. They can maneuver a lot faster. They should be able to run down his wooden ships while I handle what he has left. I'll leave five thousand men behind to hold the city."

  "But why?" Mikhail protested, coming to his feet. "We hold the city, but they are still dug in at the factories. If I only have five thousand they might break back in."

  "If I stay here in the river, I'll have no room," Tobias snapped. "I want to catch them out in the open and sink them before they can land their army here."

  "If you leave," Mikhail shouted, "they might attack me here."

  "You are not to worry about that," Hulagar replied sharply, and the two men looked over at him. "I want Keane and his army dead. Everything else is not of importance at the moment."

  Mikhail looked over suspiciously at Hulagar but said nothing.

  "It is almost dawn," Tobias said quietly. "If we pull the men off the siege lines during daylight, they will notice. When night comes we'll abandon the lines around the factory. The two mortar boats will keep up an all-night barrage to cover this. The following morning we'll move the fleet and start to run up the coast."

  "And myself?" Mikhail said grimly.

  "If he's moving as the spy reported, we'll be back in three days," Tobias said coldly. "When those fools see Andrew's body, they'll know there's no hope left."

  Hulagar stood up, bending over in the low cabin.

  "I am looking forward to seeing ships fight ships, Cromwell," he said evenly, and he turned and went out the door, the other Merki following him.

  "He still does not know that the Vushka are coming," Tamuka said in Merki as they stepped out onto the main deck of the ship.

  "Why should he?" Hulagar replied. "If he did, they would all know that we will occupy this city and betray him. Let him find out when it is done and not before."

  "The Vushka coming here?" Vuka said sharply, coming up to stand before the two.

  Tamuka groaned inwardly at his indiscretion and looked over at Hulagar.

  "Yes, the Vushka," Hulagar replied slowly.

  "And my father, does he ride with them?"

  "That was his intention," Hulagar said.

  A thin smile crossed Vuka's features, and he turned and walked away.

  "You might have to do it even without honor," Hulagar whispered.

  "I cannot take that responsibility," Tamuka replied. "Remember that the Qar Qarth said that if he redeems himself he may still live."

  "Redeemed or not, can one believe his actions? He knows his father will be here to judge him. He suspects as well that he is considered judged, and therefore what he does will be done with that thought in mind. Remember what we talked about. For the sake of our survival you must act soon."

  Tamuka looked back at Vuka and saw him talking with Mantu. The two of them laughed softly. Vuka put a friendly arm around his brother's shoulder, and the two walked off into the shadows.

  "He has always hated Mantu," Tamuka whispered, and his voice was cold with suspicion.

  Chapter Sixteen

  "How old would you say the message is?" Kal asked, looking over at Hans, who sat on the edge of the table looking down at the rough map spread out before them.

  "The first line of fortifications is a hundred miles southwest of here. We have two lines of pickets beyond that—the first fifty miles out, the second another fifty. Half a day for the semaphore to get it back to the fortified lines. Our telegraph station at the railhead at Wilderness Station is thirty miles down, and the messenger said it took him over a day to get up here, cross the river, and swing into our lines above Novrod."

  "Two days," O'Donald whispered. "Those bastards move fifty miles a day on the march."

  "Remember, they're going through the gaps in the Shenandoah Hills—it'll slow them a bit. I'd guess they've moved maybe seventy-five miles since then. They should hit the defensive line tomorrow."

  "You think the line will slow them down?"

  "What line?" O'Donald replied. "Less than three thousand troops and a couple of thousand laborers covering a stretch nearly a hundred miles across? There are still holes out there big enough to ride a whole umen through mounted stirrup to stirrup. The best bet for those boys is simply to get out of the way and hole up in the blockhouses. Besides, the Merki aren't interested in our fortifications, they're after Suzdal."

  "But only one umen," Pat said. "Our reports say the Merki have over forty. How come so few?"

  "Maybe pressure from that ot
her horde to the south," Kal replied. "Maybe they think it's already in the bag and they don't need any more for right now. After all, their servants already have Suzdal."

  "Perhaps I should have fought for it after all," Kal said, his voice full of self-recrimination.

  "You made the right move," Hans replied sharply. "We never could have held both the factories and Suzdal once they got into the town. If they'd taken the factories, everything we've worked for would have been lost."

  "But if the Merki are in Suzdal," Kal said, "it'll only strengthen Mikhail's hand. They'll hold the largest city of the republic. With the additional strength of those ten thousand, along with what Cromwell can bring to bear, we'll be run out of here in a matter of days."

  "Their only way across is up at the ford," Pat said. "That'll add at least an extra day to the march. Perhaps we could slow them there."

  "With the Ogunquit on their side?" Hans replied. "If we tried to move any troops up from Novrod and then down through the hills, they'd still have to march for twenty miles along the river road with the Ogunquit shelling them every inch of the way. Like it or not, during the Tugar war that ship played hell with their advance. As it is, all they need to do is use some galleys as ferries and they could bring some of them beasts across right here in front of the city, or land them anywhere behind our forces on the road."

  "So it's all going to depend on Andrew," Kal said nervously. "And he's only got three days, four at most, to eliminate Cromwell and block the river."

  "There's still Mikhail inside the city," Hans stated. "We still have to contend with him as well."

  "Are there any other suggestions?" Kal asked.

  Hans shook his head dejectedly.

  "If we should attack the city, we'll be back where we were earlier, covering too much territory. We've got the factory area armed to the teeth, so at least we can hold here a bit longer. But I'd suggest, Father Casmar, that you think up one hell of a prayer."

  The priest smiled sadly and nodded.